While NaNo-ing my fucking brains out, I’ve come to several conclusions, which I will now word vomit all up in this mofo, in no particular order, like I can even think coherently and shit.

People speak in fragments. Fragments are a reality. Fuck you, Word, you’re not a person, you don’t know!

I had to go have another bloody root canal and lost three days in a haze of pain and pain meds. It’s like NaNo didn’t even give me an extension. Normal people go in, get a root canal, take some ibuprofen and go back to work. Not me! I have complications and infections, and come home with tennis elbow in my jaw, you know how I do. I am just that fucking special.

When I get sick, I ask people to help, but they fuck it all up. My kids end up at Lily’s house after school, chicken is cooked with fear instead of love, and Zoe’s pants get sucked up into the brand new vacuum cleaner. I don’t wanna hear anymore bullshit about how I’m spoiled or whatthefuckever because as The Mister says, I am the commanding officer and he is the first sergeant. That translates to I give the orders and he executes them.

Without me, it all goes to shit. I am the rock.

In order to do my best writing, I need to live alone. In order to do superior writing, I need to not have children. In order to write well, I need to stay up writing at night, and sleep while the children are at school.

Everything that is not silence pisses me right off.

*looks at dog*
“I know you do not need to pee AGAIN. Maybe you should slow down on your water consumption.”

Personally, I cannot maintain this level of intensity and still be a good mother. I’m not sayin other people cannot parent well while writing four thousand words a day, I’m just sayin that I am a better mother when I am not writing four thousand words a day.

I’d like to see some stats on which novelists have been the primary caretakers of children while writing their novels.
From three o’clock til now, I have been bothered no less than every fifteen minutes.
I’m going to assume that all blogging mommies and daddies have books inside of them, but they can’t hear themselves think long enough to type them out.

I can’t stand a messy house, and I can’t focus in chaos. Choosing to write prolifically and with dedication means submitting myself to a world where television consoles are dusty enough to write upon, and my husband’s tee-shirts are not folded properly. Eventually, the stress of laundry undone wins, and I cannot write until it’s done.

I saw this meme the other day about how an organized house is a sign of a boring woman, and I’d just like to say, “Fuck you, the neuroses that make me clean my house are the same exact neuroses that make me interesting. If you find me boring, let me know, and I will no longer visit interesting you in your filthy house.”

I could be more productive if I didn’t have to stop to care for other people. I could quite easily subject myself to a life of living in one room, typing away in a frenzy. With my twenty-two open tabs, my piles of drinks on my table, my ugly unwashed sweater, my glasses with the smudges, and my ever-so-pleasant disposition.

I’d like nothing better than to guzzle down actual caffeinated espresso drinks and chain smoke actual cigarettes and never, ever sleep, but then I’ll end up back in therapy with all the Ativan and all the homework and all the caffeine headaches and all the panic attacks…

OR maybe it’s better to drink nothing but iced decaf with too much Kahlua and vape my six milligrams of nicotine, until I am author-slash-alcoholic divorcee…

SO I’m just doing the best I can with the brain and the situation I’ve got.

I have more than met my mark at 28,447 words for today. After this, I’m going to go take a shower and wash my hair like a normal person.

It has always been clear to me that the life of an artist runs counterproductive to a life of normalcy. If we let the craft take over, then the craft is magnificent and the normal structure of life suffers.
Yes, I am saying I think my NaNo project is magnificent. I have no idea if I’m high on laptop fumes or it really is, but it makes me happy in an angsty sorta way.

23 Responses to I AM The Rock and Paper Beats Rock

Maybe not the best place to say it, perhaps private message is better, but you’ve no idea how proud I am for you writing a piece of work that gives you so much pride, and being a normal, neurotic, clean frak mom and amazing wife that you are…write on my friend, I can’t wait to see what you’ve poured your soul into…

You rock! I only have one child and I still get an odd expression when someone asks me what I do with my free time. Free time? What is that? I’m not even gonna talk about the two jobs because it feels like I’m surrounded by giant whiny children and morons in both of them. I can never decide which is worse. Anyhow I loved this post and especially how the mister can concede that you give the orders and he executes them!

Even the rants you “vomit up” are really good to read. I can’t offer any advice, I’m the same sergeant as the mister, but remember, we take orders pretty well, even if we screw up the execution part. 28,000 words? Really? Seriously? that would take me 14 weeks and, judging by my previous work, at best, 2,000 of them would bear a resemblance to each other. I’ll just change the title to “you rock” – good luck.

1- I love this and relate to every word, although I have become more and more OK with the chaos in my house out of regard for my sanity.
2- Lately, the more I write, the more I feel selfish and like a terrible parent because I am forcing my kids to do more things on their own in order to get time to think. It shouldn’t be so hard to be a writer and a parent. But it seems we can’t give up being either one, so I guess we are stuck.
3- 4000 words a day is A-MAZING! Rock on!

Who’s that one author lady I saw a meme about on Facebook about a week ago? She apparently wrote three novels in two years while working full time and raising kids and maintaining her house. Something like that. Lucky her.

As for you, I know your pain, albeit not on that level. I’m very happy that you’ve made it this far and I know you’ll pull through in the end. I, on the other hand, am failing terribly, and I’m very upset about it. First two years I did Nano I finished by November 16th. It’s now the 18th and I’m only halfway there. I’m starting to freak.

I will say though, that maybe, just maybe, an artists life is a life of normalcy. It’s everybody else that has screwed up lives.

Not sure. I think it’s a loss of story. I thought I’d have more to write, but it’s almost all told and I’m too far behind. I could just throw a bunch of random crap in there, like them going out to eat, and describing every single bite they take. Eh.

My mind has a maximum capacity of roughly 400 words that it’s able to write in some semblance of intelligent thought. The cumulative effect of having even one child would cut that down to 200 words, two would only leave me the option of doing stand up comedy full of rants, tirades, and lots of sailor words. I am sure your hubby is happy you are directly your energy toward writing, it saves him from you noticing he is not following your orders to the letter. Distraction is a hubby’s best friend.

LOL! By your rationale, my word count would be -400! “Won’t you please buy my book of primal screams, guttural moans, and curse words?” AHAHAHA!
My husband is in good standing, having been extremely helpful. He hasn’t failed me yet, but I’ll keep that distraction business in mind! 😛 Thanks for commenting!